


And other well-loved cliches

by rallamajoop



Series: Summers'son [7]
Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rallamajoop/pseuds/rallamajoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three more ways a young Nate and Wade might (or might not) have ultimately scrambled their way into the orbit of first base.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And other well-loved cliches

**Author's Note:**

> This marks the end of the _Summers'son_ series. In case it's not as obvious as it should be, the last scene in this chapter follows events from a prior scene back in [the third installment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/593407).

In their later years, once in a while someone would make the mistake of asking them how they'd got together. (If anything, it was rather more common for some unsuspecting thug to find himself on the receiving end of a diatribe that began, "You think _you've_ you problems? _You_ try making people take you seriously as a badass motherfucking merc who's still dating the same guy he met in high school. Yeah I said _guy_ , did you have a problem with that? Get over here and I'll give you something worth having a problem with..." but this seldom led to the full tale being told, let alone to anyone who had the first idea why they were hearing any of it.)  
  
In more polite company, Wade's answer invariably fell along the lines of, "the most messed-up way possible, no thanks to _him_." Here Nathan would generally interject that as he remembered it, the mess had owed more to someone _else_ with a paralysing fear that his best friend might ever find out how much time Wade spent picturing him naked, and a habit of projecting both at considerable psychic volume every time they hung out. This would lead to Wade offering his own complaints about mixed messages and _someone's_ habit of stripping to win an argument, eventually dissolving into a stream of good-natured bickering along the same lines that at least did managed to demonstrate that, however they may have gotten there, the arrangement must have worked out for them reasonably well in the long run. They could hardly have reached that level of old married couple behaviour otherwise.  
  
One usually did better asking how they met ("In high school, if you'd believe it." "Yeah, thatone took some doing, what with how the date on _his_ birth certificate is a whole decade after mine..."), how Wade got himself into the superhero business, how long ago it was they'd begun preparing for the rise of Apocalypse – or why, even now, they still spoke of it as though the battle was far from over. This was all fair enough, because in the big picture, _how_ they'd first established their mutual romantic attraction had to be just about the least important part of the story.  
  
 _Here is how it should have happened:_  
  
One afternoon when the moment seems right, Nathan pops the question, _have you ever wondered if you might be a mutant?_ Wade responds defensively, that much was inevitable, but when Nathan explains that he's a mutant himself and points out the possibility of secondary mutations and the realities of a world where someone invents a new mutant cure or a mutant-targeting superweapon every other week, sooner or later this is something Wade is going to need to know for sure. Nathan shows him his telekinesis, sending objects flying around the room (the revelation about his telepathy can wait for another time). He tells Wade he knows a doctor who lives in their city who could do the test for him in under an hour. Nervous, but unable to fault Nathan's logic, Wade agrees. Nathan makes the appointment. They don't tell Scott or Al.  
  
From the moment they leave, Wade's brimming with nervous energy; for the better part of the whole train journey one of his feet thumps out a staccato beat against the floor. Nathan knows there's a chance he's getting Wade's hopes up for nothing, but his gut tells him he's not wrong.  
  
Wade's eyes go wide on his first sight of Doctor McCoy ("You didn't tell me he was a mutant!" he hisses to Nate. "He is?" Nathan replies, his face the picture of studied innocence, "I always thought he just had a bad skin condition." Wade elbows him in the ribs). He has to have it explained twice why he needs to let the doctor stick a cotton bud in his mouth, then he fidgets terribly through the fifteen minute wait while Doctor McCoy disappears to process the sample, and only fidgets worse when he comes back wanting skin and blood and finally x-rays as well. Nathan can already hear Wade building himself up for disappointment, which is something of a job when he can't quite seem to make up his mind whether _yes_ or _no_ would be the bigger disappointment after coming this far. A dozen times over Nathan nearly tells him that Dr McCoy wouldn't have wanted so many additional tests if he hadn't found something, but stops himself each time. The truth is he doesn't know, and skimming the doctor's surface thoughts does little good when they go by so fast in vocabulary Nathan can't make head or tail out of.  
  
At last, they're called back into the laboratory, now decorated with back-lit x-rays of various parts of Wade's body. Doctor McCoy grumbles something about the problem with science and answers that only ever lead to more questions, but assures them his tests were conclusive – _excepting_ , he adds looking down at them over his spectacles, on the matter of supplying him with any rational explanation for how Mr Wilson has managed to reach this age _without noticing_ that he's in possession of one of the most enthusiastically overactive healing factors Dr McCoy has ever encountered in his long and distinguished career. As Wade makes assorted sounds of confusion, the doctor takes the opportunity to point out on his x-rays no less than seven different places where Wade's bones show evidence of long-healed breaks, not one of which Wade has any recollection of having broken in the first place. Sure he's had his share of hard knocks, and there was that one attempt to recreate that scene from that new Bond film off the second-story balcony over that went epically wrong and it hurt like a word Dr McCoy finds the need to cough over, but you know what they say about any landing you can walk away from. He's always known he doesn't bruise, but with skin like his who'd notice an extra scrape somewhere? But it's not like he could _break_ something and not notice, that's just _dumb_.  
  
He goes a little pale as the truth sinks in.  
  
Dr McCoy takes advantage of the extended silence to show them the chart of coloured blobs which apparently prove the presence of a mutant gene in Wade's genetics, then goes on to share some interesting figures on white blood cell activity and cell division rates and what that means regarding Wade's relative odds of surviving a minor case of Ebola, or perhaps the experience of being ripped in two (as a medical professional of course he's obligated not to recommend Wade tries it out – though if his subject does feel the need to test his limits under controlled circumstances he'd be only too happy to make the arrangements).  
  
Wade listens to all this with a distant look of grim determination, Nathan making detailed mental notes in anticipation of having to repeat it all to him again later before it sinks in. This continues up until Wade suddenly grabs a scalpel off a nearby tray and stabs himself through the back of the hand. He glares defiantly at both of them, probably expecting a stronger reaction than Dr McCoy's rolled eyes and complaint that that's really not what he had mind by way of _controlled conditions_ (though at least Wade had had the decency to use a sterilised implement). They all watch with interest as the stab wound seals itself shut in seconds.  
  
("Are you sure that doesn't happen to everyone?" Wade wants to know. "Don't make me demonstrate," Nathan threatens. Wade has to sit down.)  
  
But Wade is nothing if not quick to recover, and he's in a chipper mood on the way back to the station afterwards, chattering on about various things he could hypothetically live through and dumbass dermatologists and his future career as an indestructible medical test subject, should 'stunt man' fall through. Nathan isn't really listening though; his mind is elsewhere. As they'd been leaving, Dr McCoy had pulled him aside and told him that while it's all conjecture at this early stage, the odds are that Wade's healing factor will never let him age beyond twenty-five. Today, he'd stressed, is not the day to drop that particular bombshell on his friend, but sooner or later he has a right to know. He'll trust Nathan's judgement as to when.  
  
Wade could live forever.  
  
As much as Nathan has enjoyed his relationship with Wade, it's always been overshadowed by the awareness that _this too shall pass_. If Wade's mutant nature was ever going to give him the raw power to rival Nathan's telekinesis or the ability to deflect bullets with his mind, they'd have known long ago. It's been pleasant – necessary, even – for Nathan to take this time to orient himself in the world he'll soon be called on to protect, but he can't ask Wade to follow him where he's going. It wouldn't be fair on either of them.  
  
Until today, when Dr McCoy had innocently revealed that Wade is going to outlive him. Wade could live Nathan's life – fight every battle at his side – and _survive_. They can be together – he can _have_ Wade – without guilt, without fear. In all their association, this is the first time he's ever felt the right to offer Wade what he knows Wade has wanted since the day they met. The world has given him permission.  
  
It's not until that moment that Nathan had ever consciously allowed himself to recognise how much he wants that too. Now, like a switch has been flicked on, the floodgates are open. It's all but overwhelming.  
  
Reality intrudes in the form of Wade's voice asking why he's standing there like that, earth to Nate, hello? Nathan hears himself mutter some sort of apology and try to shrug it off. He smiles, maybe a little too easily, because Wade gives him a funny look and changes the subject.  
  
This isn't the moment to drop that bombshell on Wade either, he decides. They've surely already had their share of revelations between them for one day.  
  
Tomorrow though – he won't leave it any longer than that. He's made Wade wait long enough  
  
 _Here is how it shouldn't have:_  
  
One night while Scott is out of town the two of them sneak out back together with a case of stolen beer, and proceed to get themselves drunk well past the stage where either of them can remember why they wouldn't usually end up slouched together with Wade's head on Nate's shoulder as they lean back against the wall of the ancient potting shed, past where Wade can remember that he wouldn't usually dare kiss Nathan, and past where Nathan can remember why it would be a bad idea to kiss Wade back, only that he can feel how much Wade wants it and it feels so _nice_...  
  
It's more than Nathan can bear when they wake, cold and sober, to let Wade try to pretend he can't remember what he did or that it was something he'd never want sober. But even once Nathan's owned up that he does like boys and he knows Wade likes him, he's still got to admit that he's telepathic and more than a little empathic into that deal, and with that much alcohol in his system, he doesn't know for sure whether what he was feeling that night were his own feelings or Wade's.  
  
 _One way or another, though, some things are probably inevitable._  


* * *

  
Early on the Monday morning after the sports carnival, Nathan finds Wade sitting on the bleachers, alone. There's a stormy quality the thoughts churning away under his stoic expression that makes Nathan wince away from prying any deeper. Nonetheless, there's something there – something the slightest bit artificial about thought cycles keeping Wade angry – that gives him the first glimmer of hope he's felt in days.

"Weasel said you were looking for me," he offers.

"Not how I remember that conversation," says Wade, staring resolutely at the bleacher two steps down and in a tone so far past 'grudging' that the words might have been dragged out of him on meat hooks. "But since you're here, and since I gave you so much crap for lying to me, I figure it's only fair I own up to the thing where I'm mostly gay and I've had a crush on you since... well, pretty much since forever."

"Oh," says Nathan. This he hadn't expected at all.

Wade kicks idly at the back of the bench in front of him. "Yeah, sorta seemed like a bigger deal before I knew you were the terminator, but now? If you give me one lick of grief about it I am going to laugh _so hard_."

"Well," says Nathan – because to hell with it all, if nothing between him and Wade can ever be the same again, he can surely do _something_ to guide the change for the better. "If we're sharing, there are a couple of other things you should know about me too."

Wade's leg freezes mid-swing. "There's _more?“_

"Yes. The truth is, I – knew. I knew how you felt about me."

Wade's jaw drops. He looks absolutely livid. " _Terry_ ," he growls. "I'm gonna fucking _kill_ her."

"Terry wasn't involved," Nathan says quickly; he needs to get this all out now before he can overthink it. "You see, I'm actually not just telekinetic, I'm telepathic as well. I can read minds."

Wade, to his credit, puts it all together remarkably fast. "You _what?_ You don't think maybe that's the kinda thing you should switch off when you enter the theatre and keep in your pants in public? What the _fuck,_ Nate."

"It's not something I can switch off," Nathan explains. "Wade, I honestly wanted to tell you. But I thought it would be less awkward for both of us if I gave you time to get over your crush on me first." He shrugs, sheepish. Wade's mouth is hanging open again.

"Shit," he says. "Well that worked out just peachy, didn't it?"

"Not really."

"Never did get over it. Still got it bad for your stupid mutant face right now even though I'd maybe like to crush a few other parts first."

"I know," says Nathan. "But there's one more thing I need to own up to. I've been starting to feel," he stops here, takes a breath, makes himself finish, "To feel glad you never got over me. Like I could feel the same way."

Wade goes completely expressionless. "Alien mutant cyborg time-traveller," he mutters, "Shoulda known all I was left out was _gay.“_

"Well. I like girls too," says Nathan – not that it really matters, but if he's committed himself to being perfectly honest with Wade even that much misunderstanding feels like some sort of betrayal, "just boys as well. People didn't think of it as such a big thing where I grew up."

"You _like_ me?" Wade's features remain terrifyingly expressionless.

Nathan nods. "I think it's been creeping up on me for a while now."

"Well fuck," Wade declares. "You _know_ I'd be all over that like flies on shit, 'cept I don't think I'm done being mad at you yet."

"Then you don't want to make out?" Nathan will later deny having the slightest idea where this part came from.

" _Now_? You are such an asshole."

"Who wants to make out with you."

"We're at school, dipshit," says Wade, chucking something which may have been a rusted coke can at Nathan's head. "Not to mention, me: _still mad_."

"Alright," says Nathan, thinking quickly. "What do I have to do to make it up to you? I assume public humiliation will be involved. Weasel told me once that being made to run naked through the main hallway is fairly traditional."

"That's for when your bud loses a bet!" Wade snaps. "When your wannabe boyfriend screws you over it's completely different!"

"I'd do it though."

"I know, that's what takes all the fun out of it! You wanna make up for _this_ you'd have to do something more like – like you have to tell the school counsellor all about your irresistible fetish for toenail clippings, or you get yourself caught spanking the monkey in the men's while moaning the name of your English teacher, or you explain to Blind Al _exactly_ what you did to make me mad at you and beg for her help making it right!"

Nathan winces. "Okay, less comfortable with those."

"See? That's what you get for underestimating the imagination of Wade Motherfucking Wilson." Wade folds his arms in a victorious sort of manner. "Now get over here and kiss me already."

"What?"

"You heard. C'mon, Summers, before I change my mind."

 _Ball's in your court now, dickhead_. The thought flickers through Nathan's mind so quickly he isn't sure whether it came from Wade or his own mental processes; either way, it's hard to argue. In public or not, there's no-one watching them at the moment – a quick psychic scan is enough to make very sure of that – so at the least this isn't a split-second decision Wade will have to regret. And while that's a very nice excuse for why he's still standing here hesitating it's still that: an excuse. Not a response.

He takes a step forward; the task of finding his balance on the steps suddenly demanding far more of his concentration than it ever does normally. Wade has his arms folded and is staring at him with what comes very close to the perfect poker face, but underneath it all there's the unshakable impression of a body faintly thrumming with nerves. Nathan stops below him; with Wade seated and him standing their heights are just about a match. They both hesitate one last time as Wade swallows visibly, then Nathan lets his eyes drift closed as he closes the gap.

Wade's breath is warm against his mouth, his lips soft, opening uncertainly under Nathan's as he drops to kiss Wade's bottom lip. He kisses back a little more confidently when Nathan returns to cover his mouth properly, his internal monologue stuttering out into static for several seconds before he has any success starting it up again. It's ridiculously chaste, but here and now neither of them seem prepared to try for more, and nothing else matters when Nathan knows that from here, there's no going back.

Feeling bold, he says, "You know, while we're doing confessions, I've quite enjoyed some of those fantasies of yours."

Wade knees him in the gut. "Sheesh, if you gotta peek in on that stuff at least have the common decency to _pretend_ you didn't." He stares petulantly off into the distance as Nathan doubles over – not quite winded but a little too close – then, a little more quietly, asks, "Which ones?"

Nathan lets himself grin. He straightens up. "Wanna cut school?"

"Yeah, okay," says Wade, hopping to his feet. "You are such a bad influence."

"I know," says Nathan, leaning a hand on Wade's shoulder as they make their way down. "I learnt from the best."


End file.
